Otou-san
by EmpressNariko
Summary: Being a dad is hard. Especially to my children, but I'm still the luckiest guy in the world. A snapshot view of what it's like being a dad to some interesting children. Another semi-fluffy ONESHOT, and of course it's Kaka/Saku. Enjoy!


Thank you so much to TheCopyMistress and LindtLuirae for helping me with this oneshot!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Hey Dad?" Kakashi called out, his young voice interrupting the peaceful evening. His little feet had stopped beside me where I sat on the old worn wooden porch. The Hatake family home was old and antiquated, but it was sturdy. Several generations of Hatakes were raised in this traditional house. Now it was mine—mine to raise my son, and one day it'll be his, to raise his family in.

The six-year-old had discovered me sitting outside, reading the newspaper, and having some quiet time to myself. The sun was low in the early autumn sky and a gentle breeze rustled the newspapers I was struggling to hold upright. I thought to enjoy a few more beautiful sunsets, like this one, before the temperatures became too cold to enjoy simple pleasures like these.

Kakashi waited impatiently for me to acknowledge his presence. "What's on your mind, son?" I asked as I continued staring ahead.

With some hesitation, he quietly sat down beside me. I looked over and saw that Kakashi was thinking hard about something—trying to put together his thoughts carefully before speaking. "What's love?"

I looked up from my newspaper, surprised, and glanced at my silver-haired miniature—who was refusing to make eye-contact with me. I knew this day was coming, but I had hoped that I would still have a few more years before I would have to answer such complicated questions. At least a little more time to prepare an interpretation that would appease the young genius.

Too late now I guess. I took a deep breath and tried to come up with an explanation that would satisfy him. "Well, it's a type of strong emotion you feel for someone you care about."

Kakashi pondered what I had said for a moment, but still looked a little confused, his little feet swinging from the edge of the porch. "What's the difference between caring for someone and loving someone?" he asked, still looking puzzled.

"When you love someone you already care about them, however, when you care about them, it doesn't necessarily mean that you love them. Love is involuntary, and it doesn't always makes sense." I scratched the back of my head with an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry son, I don't really know how else to explain it. Your mother would have been better at explaining this." I sighed to myself, unhappy with my weak definition.

Continuing to watch him, I saw his little nose scrunch in concentration as he played with the edge of his shirt. "How did you know you loved Mom?"

I couldn't hold back the deep-belly laugh that burst from me, remembering my own interesting courtship with my late-wife. "Well, to put it honestly, I didn't know at first. She ended up convincing me that I was already in love with her before I knew it. She was a wise woman. I am the luckiest man in Konoha to have had her marry me all those years ago."

"What do you mean?" his son asked curiously.

"You might get your looks from me, but you get your mother's intelligence and sharp wit." I briefly paused, putting down the newspaper and picked him up, placing him in my lap, so I could look at him face-to-face. "She was a brilliant and strong kunoichi—one of the best and most sought after women of my time."

"And?" Kakashi pressed me to continue—his big eyes captivated by a story—any story, especially about his mom. He was grinning from ear to ear, eager to hear the tale. I couldn't help but feel pride when I looked at him, even with his two front teeth missing.

"_And_ she cornered me one day after a mission and told me I would ask her to marry me within the year. I mean, I cared about her as a fellow ninja but she was younger than me. Though, it bewildered me she would choose me versus all the men her own age."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't know her very well."

"Why?"

"Because we graduated in different years."

"Why did you marry her?"

"Because I grew to love her."

"Why?"

"Do you know any other sentence structure?" I asked my son under my breath. I knew that Kakashi would one day be curious about his mother. It brought forth mixed emotions to remember my dearly beloved wife who had passed two years ago. My chest felt both tight and warm as the memories of our short, but passionate marriage came flooding back.

The breeze picked up briefly, stirring our silver hair. The autumn leaves rustled around us as the wind swept through them, bringing a few down from the trees in the courtyard. I took a moment to gather my thoughts just like my son had done a minute earlier.

"There are many reasons why I loved your mother, Kakashi. She made me laugh, she supported me and the decisions I made, she never gave up on me, she took care of me, and most importantly, she gave me you." I kissed the crown of his head, then paused for a second. Brushing the hair out of my son's eyes, I took a moment to look into them, trying to decipher if what I said had resonated.

I felt such heartache for Kakashi—I yearned with every fiber of my being for his mother to still be living, at least for Kakashi, if not for the both of us. She had been such a good influence for me. I wished that she could have been here for our son, and answered the important type of questions, like what Kakashi asked this evening.

"Does that help at all, Kakashi?" I asked carefully. I really wasn't sure if I had answered any of his existential questions.

Sometimes, it was easy to feel as though I'm failing as a parent, especially being a single father and an active shinobi. Most of the time, I felt as if I was stumbling through raising my genius son. It was extraordinarily hard when he turned his eyes on me—they were my dark charcoal colour, but the shape and expression bore a striking resemblance to my departed wife's.

"Hmmm... I guess," he said, although he still seemed to be deep in thought.

"What made you ask about love?" I expected some sort of deep philosophical answer, since I know just how smart and clever the kid was.

"Gai said that he loved Ningame, his dad's turtle summon. And that they would have a stronger eternal bond between them if he loved his summon. Stronger than what I could have with Pakkun," he puffed out angrily.

I found it impossible not to chuckle at the quandary he faced.

"I think I know of a good way to help you have a closer bond with your ninken. Why don't you summon Pakkun and we could all spend some time together, working on strengthening your bond?"

Kakashi's face lit up how a toddler's face can. He quickly scrambled off of my lap and leaped into the middle of the courtyard. Without a second thought, he began the summoning technique, and he winced a little as he bit his thumb for the first part of the summoning.

I couldn't help but feel such joy because of my boy—even if he's only just beginning to grasp the importance of love.

* * *

"Papa, what's love?" Bright emerald eyes stared up at me. I had been lounging with my young daughter on the old wooden porch of the family home, her sprawled on my lap.

It was a beautiful hot summer's day—the type of day where the bright white clouds were fluffy and invited a day-dreamer's gaze as they gently rolled past. I had a rare day off and wanted to spend it relaxing at home with my family. My wife and eldest son worked together in the garden, cultivating all sorts of vegetables and other medicinal herbs. On such a perfect day, it was inevitable that my mind wandered while I watched them—my chest filled with warmth and contentment, as I observed them working.

"I'm waiting," my daughter sang impatiently. She reached out and patted my bare cheeks, trying to catch my attention. Because of the heat and the humidity, I left my mask and most other layers inside, ending up in only my mesh top, short pants and bare feet. There was no place like home—it's where I felt most at ease, especially with my whole family surrounding me.

My daughter continued her assault while I reminisced. It was unavoidable that my memory drifted to the time when I had asked my father the same question all those years ago—right here, on this very porch. It felt so nostalgic.

I remember the day when our son, our first child, was born, and I found that I had a newfound respect for my father. I couldn't imagine having to raise a child by myself. It was both awe-inspiring and the most daunting thing in the world to be a father. Especially to a demanding little girl—I hadn't realized that raising a miniature Sakura could have been as onerous as raising our son. Thankfully I had Sakura, and she was such a fantastic mother to both of our children.

The slaps became rather aggressive against my face—she certainly was her mother's daughter. She was obviously getting restless with my lack of a response, so I didn't waste another second before I reached forward and began to tickle her so much that she couldn't stop giggling.

She squealed, laughed and squirmed, nearly falling off my lap.

"Papaaaa—" she shrieked loudly, desperately trying to wiggle away.

"Sorry little one, but I am a fierce and powerful ninja and you will succumb to my tickle torture," I laughed loudly as I tickled her sides gently. Her laughs and cries were boisterous enough to get Sakura's attention—enough for her to come and rescue our daughter.

"You might be a fierce ninja, but I will protect her from your tickle torture," Sakura said, coming up to us, scooping our daughter into her arms.

"Papa is being silly. He won't answer my question," she stated as she clung to her mother for protection.

"What question is that, Sachiko?" she asked our four-year-old daughter. Sakura had sat down against my side on the warm wood, resting the toddler on her lap. I couldn't help but turn onto my side and curl around them, feeling sated. I rested my hand on my wife's side and peered around her back to come face-to-face with Sachiko.

I stuck my tongue out at her before replying, "She asked 'what's love'." Before Sakura began speaking, she waited a moment as Sakumo, our eight-year-old son, joined us on the porch.

Sakura grinned as she looked down at our little girl. "Oh, that's easy!" She leaned back against me as she explained love to our daughter and our son.

I breathed deeply as I listened to my wife's captivating voice explain her meaning of love—which a better reply than I could have ever come up with.

Life couldn't get any better than this—being a husband to Sakura and a father to Sachiko and Sakumo.


End file.
